


Well That's New

by Taarbas



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: "Oral", Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fingering, Fluids, Other, Sticky, Tailgate doesn't really have a mouth soo, Whirl Being Whirl, frank discussion of sex and sexual themes, valveplug, what other tags do we use im new here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 17:26:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7810756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taarbas/pseuds/Taarbas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cyclonus and Tailgate have been together for a while now, but they've got some concerns about the berthroom. Namely, how quiet Cyclonus is...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well That's New

**Author's Note:**

> Heey first robo smut fic. I'm new to all this, so feel free to correct me if I've got any terminology mixed up. I just kinda picked up what I could from reading other fics

Their first few times interfacing hadn’t necessarily been bad, in fact Tailgate had enjoyed them immensely, but it had always nagged at Tailgate how eerily silent of a partner Cyclonus was. Their first night together, Tailgate had been afraid he was doing something wrong, or Cyclonus wasn’t enjoying himself. Tangled together, chassis’ pressed close and spike plunged as deep as it would go in Tailgate, the other mech had been silent, the only sound that would imply he was getting anything out of the encounter the steady whir of cooling fans. He’d even confronted him about it. Of course the jet had batted away the worries with a wave of a servo, explaining he just was quiet in the berth and he’d always been that way. Primus knew Tailgate had tried all of sorts of tricks to get a sound out of his partner, but so far, he had been unsuccessful. Frustrated, Tailgate had went to Swerve’s, planning to have a glass of energon and think up new things he could try, but that had all been shot to bits the second Whirl had drunkenly dropped into the booth next to him, slopping about a third of his cocktail onto the table as he flopped forward. “Pipsqueak! Where’s big and angry? He ditch ya?” Before Tailgate could respond, the other mech was laughing, downing what was left of the drink in a single go before signaling for Swerve to bring another over. “Just kiddin’. I know ya two are attached at the hip...or should I say crotch?” His pincher clinked into Tailgate’s shoulder as the minibot scowled, taking a sip of his energon before replying with a frustrated,

“What do you want Whirl?!” For a bot without a face, he was good at looking offended. Raising a closed pincher to his chest, he bowed his head and hunched his shoulders. 

“Why, Pipsqueak! I’m hurt! Can’t a mech just enjoy a mini’s company?” Tailgate’s scowl had Whirl hurrying on. “Listen, I’m good at reading people. Real good. Crazy good,” here he paused to tap a pincher against the side of his head, “And what I’m readin’ is that you and ol’ big and angry aren’t doin’ too good. What’s up? You two have a fight?” Tailgate paused, taken aback by Whirl’s sudden concern. It wasn’t like him at all. Whirl was rude and loud and obnoxious, not someone to come and offer help. Unless…

“Did you paint Ultra Magnus’ office again?” 

“What?! Never!” There it was. Tailgate finished his energon before jabbing the bigger mech in the stomach. 

“I knew it! Here I thought you might actually be trying to be helpful, when really you just want me to cover for you!” Crossing his arms, he turned away. “Well I’m not doing it! No siree! No matter what you say!” With a sudden flicker of his optic and a shift in his posture, Whirl leaned over Tailgate and gave him what could only be described as a leer. 

“What if I told you Cyclonus get’s  _ really _ talkative if you get him drunk enough?” Tailgate ignored him, refusing to admit that he had caught his attention. “And what if I told you I know about you two’s little...problem you got goin’ on. Berth problems are a pain in the aft ya know. I should know,” He snapped his pinchers, “I got a lot of em.” 

“Are you going somewhere with this?!” Tailgate snapped, pretending he wasn’t interested. He knew it was the easiest way to bait Whirl. 

“I’m serious!” He whined, plopping down onto the table in a way reminiscent of a dog. “Ol’ crabby got drunk a while back and told me how he was afraid you thought he didn’t like what was going on. And I got an idea on how to fix it.” Tailgate grabbed Whirl’s antenna, holding the much larger mech closer to his optic level.  

“I’m listening.”

“Ah ah! First ya gotta promise to cover for me if Big Blue shows up lookin’ for me.” Tailgate huffed out a sigh, staring at the jet for a few beats before nodding. “Ah thanks Pipsqueak! Knew I could trust ya, such a pal!” 

“You were saying Whirl?” Tailgate prompted, knowing how easily the other mech got off track. 

“Keep your panties on!” Tailgate wasn’t sure what “panties” were, but he doubted he was wearing any to begin with. “Alright, so whaddya two tried? Lemme guess, you bottom, he spikes you, you get off and he does too, but he’s just kinda goin’ through the motions?” Whirl began, and Tailgate yelped, servos scrambling over where a bot’s mouth should be. 

“Keep it down!” He hissed, optics darting around. Thankfully, the bots around them were either too drunk or more interested in the bot in their lap to pay the pair much attention. Whirl laughed, a grating sound that had Tailgate glaring at him all the more, but continued in a slightly more subdued tone. 

“Well, it’s a simple fix pipsqueak,” He paused to take a drink of another cocktail that Tailgate hadn’t seen Swerve bring over, “He ever show you his valve?” Tailgate felt his fans kick on, more in embarrassment than anything. His face mask felt hot. “Really? That’s what makes you all flustered? How cute. No but seriously pipsqueak, has he? Cause I’ll bet you money that’s what he likes. Probably too afraid to ask you though. Did ya know I dragged him in a toy shop once and he froze? Funniest thing I ever seen.” Tailgate frowned, thinking back to the times he had tried to bring up interfacing around the usually calm mech. It never ended well. Cyclonus usually made up some kind of excuse about needing to be somewhere or dodged the topic. Tailgate had barely gotten him to talk about what they had done together. “Anyway, I’ll bet you he just wants you to spike him. Get him nice an-” 

“Thank Whirl!” Tailgate chirped, jumping down from the booth and heading towards the door. 

“Hey! Where ya going? I wasn't done yet!” He whined. 

“I gotta go find somebody!” The minibot called back, already half out the door of Swerve’s. With luck, Cyclonus was where he usually was- curled up on his berth with a datapad. The jet had an affinity for history novels, and would spend hours pouring over them. Tailgate had learned it was best just to ignore him when he did that, or else he’d have to sit through hours of history he didn’t understand. The way he saw it, Cyclonus had his interests, and Tailgate had his. They didn’t always have to mesh. 

“Cyclonus?” Tailgate whispered as he stepped into the dark hab suite. Cyclonus twisted, craning his helm over a shoulder. He was laying on his stomach, the datapad propped up on his pillow as he read. Tailgate couldn’t make out what it was from where he was standing, but that wasn’t really what he was focused on at the moment. His optics had locked onto Cyclonus’ legs, which were currently open. He never laid with his legs open. Shaking his helm, Tailgate chided himself. Focus. Focus. “Cyclonus I have a question for you.” Sitting up, the larger mech tucked the data pad into his subspace and patted the empty spot next to him, waiting patiently for Tailgate to pad over and hop up onto his berth. Almost instantaneously, Tailgate clamored into Cyclonus’ lap hooking his legs over the other’s and settling in the space between them. “I have a question… a personal question,” He continued, dropping his voice to what he hoped sounded suggestive and seductive. Judging by the way Cyclonus’ lips twitched, he’d say it wasn’t successful. “It’s about your valve.” That got rid of the smirk real quick. Heat bloomed under Tailgate, Cyclonus’ fans kicking on as he shifted under the minibot. 

“Tailgate…” He warned, but the minibot pushed on. 

“Do you like it? I was thinking maybe we could switch it up next time, ya know, I could top,” Tailgate puffed up his chest, giggling to himself before deflating and staring up at his taller lover. Cyclonus had gone silent, mouth slightly open as he clearly struggled for a response. His plate had heated faster than Tailgate had thought possible, and judging by the roar of his cooling fans, it wasn’t the mini’s imagination. “So is that a yes?” 

“Tailgate!” He practically yelped, picking up the minibot and setting him on the berth before beginning to pace, servo’s clasped in the small of his back. “What even- why would you- what even brought this on?” 

“Whirl told me you told him about our ‘berthroom problems’. I got some advice from him is all.” With the way Cyclonus stared at him, Tailgate wondered if he had sprouted two heads. Or if Ultra Magnus had just appeared behind him. 

“I haven’t spoke to Whirl in nearly a week. He has been avoiding me. Why would you even go to Whirl about an issue so- so...personal?” Cyclonus sighed, rubbing a servo across his face. “But you didn’t did you? Whirl invited himself into the conversation, like he always does.” Tailgate nodded, and Cyclonus groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. After a few seconds of deliberation, he shook his head. “I’m not discussing this.” Tailgate gawked, jumping off the berth to land on the floor. 

“What?! Why not?” Cyclonus glared, looming over the smaller bot. 

“It is nothing you need to concern yourself with. I enjoy-” He cut himself off, clearly trying to think of a less vulgar way to word the rest of his sentence. “I enjoy our...activities...just the way they are.” 

“But what if I don’t? What if I wanna try spiking you instead?” Cyclonus pursed his lips, rolling his shoulders as he tried to think up a response. Coming up with none, he held out his servos in defeat. 

“Fine. I’ll try it with you-” Tailgate cut him off.

“You don’t sound too into it.” Cyclonus grit his denta, and Tailgate hesitated. “If you don’t want to, I don’t wanna make you try.” He paused, shifting his weight before beginning to pace. His servos clenched and unclenched. 

“It’s not I don’t want to, it’s that- that-” He stumbled, pausing and licking his lips. “I haven’t made use of my valve in ages. I don’t even- I wouldn’t even… Everyone I have tried to be with has wanted me to spike them. They wanted a dom, I gave them one. I’m not sure if I can even get anything in my valve anymore,” He admitted, the confession coming out choppy and nervous. His wings had straightened, ramrod stiff from his back. That’s how Tailgate knew he was nervous. Pacing over, Tailgate grabbed Cyclonus’ hand, pressing the back of it against his faceplate in an imitation of a kiss. 

“We don’t gotta try tonight. We can wait as long as you want-” 

“Tonight is fine!” He cleared his intake, shaking his head. “If you wished to try tonight, I would have no objections.” Tailgate bit back a smirk, taking a much larger servo in his own and tugging at it until Cyclonus followed him. Clammoring onto the berth, the minibot pulled his lover down until he crawled onto it, nervously attempting to arrange himself before giving up and crossing his legs again. Getting up onto his knees, Tailgate grabbed Cyclonus’ face, nuzzling his mask against the other’s mouth. 

“Are you sure you still wanna try this?” Embarrassment burned across the other mech’s face, but he nodded, clawed servos kneading Tailgate’s hips. “Lemme know if you change your mind,” He said, ducking his head to nestle in the other’s neck cables. The warrior gasped, hands pausing as small fingers slipped under a cable and gently rubbed. “Lay on your back,” Tailgate purred, servos trailing down the other mech’s frame. Steam puffed from Cyclonus’ vents, escaping from the holes in his face as well. He was already incredibly hot, and Tailgate pressed a thigh against his interface panel. Cyclonus reached down, slipping the tips of his servos under Tailgate’s armor and plucking sensitive wires and cables. “Mmf, stoppit! You’re distracting me!” Tailgate giggled, batting away his hands as he settled between the other’s legs. Cyclonus laughed with him, though it choked off once he realized Tailgate’s intentions. Tapping a finger against the cover, Tailgate looked up at him. “Go on, open it!” Eagerness had crept back into his voice, and Cyclonus flushed, letting his head drop back and resting a forearm over his face to hide the steam leaking from his face. However, he obeyed the minibot’s request. 

The panel slid back with a click, his spike pressurizing and already leaking transfluid. Tailgate ignored it in favor of the plush valve he was getting to see the first time. The mesh was a stark black against his white thighs, and was completely plain looking. Aside from a purple node, it was the simplest valve Tailgate had ever seen. But by primus, was he  _ wet _ . Grinning, Tailgate dragged a finger through puffy lips, pulling it away to watch the lubricant stretch and snap against Cyclonus’ thigh and Tailgate’s servo. A loud, rumbly groan had him pausing. Cyclonus had clapped a servo over his mouth, red optics burning as he stared off to the side, not meeting Tailgate’s eye. The sound shot straight to Tailgate’s panel, and he overrode the command for it to open. He wanted to focus on Cyclonus. Slipping his thumbs between the lips, he pressed them open, visor brightening at the sight of his hole dripping lubricants. Cyclonus whimpered, shifting above Tailgate, and he retracted his faceplate. He may not have a mouth, but he had discovered that his induction port could form a vacuum. One that he had been told felt absolutely  _ wonderful _ on nodes. Without wasting another moment, he dove in, sealing the port around his node and sucking. Cyclonus yowled, jerking bolt upright and scrabbling his claws against the back of Tailgate’s helm. His faceplate had flushed, cooling fans all but screaming in an attempt to cool him off. Tailgate suckled, watching through lidded optics as Cyclonus shuddered and shivered, little moans and whimpers leaking past his pursed lips. Steam billowed off him in clouds, raising the temperature in their hab suite. 

Pulling away with a wet “pop!” Tailgate looked up at his lover. “You doing okay?” At his quick, insistent nod, Tailgate dipped his head back down, returning to suckling at his lover’s node. His servos roamed, sliding over sensitive thigh cables and dipping under armor to tug at wires and transformation seams. One of his servos returned to his valve, rubbing the rim with the tip of a finger before slowly sliding it inside. It went with no resistance, the small size of it and the excessive lubricants dripping onto the berth helping the way. Cyclonus keened, thighs clamping shut around Tailgate’s head as he gasped and panted, a chant of his lover’s name falling past his lips. Tailgate pulled away, a few strings of lubricant connecting his port to his lover’s valve. “I wish I had a mouth. Then I could eat you properly,” He hummed, sliding a second finger in with the first. Cyclonus groaned, falling back against the berth as his legs squeezed Tailgate. “I didn’t think you could so responsive, after all, the last time we interfaced I only got a groan out of you once you overloaded.” Crooking his fingers, Tailgate attempted to find Cyclonus’ ceiling node, though he wasn’t sure he could with such small fingers. “And now look at you! You’re dripping lubricants all over the berth, all flustered and red and cute-” A blast from Cyclonus’ cooling fans and the jet biting down on his knuckles had Tailgate pausing in his fingering, the realization dawning quickly. “You like me talking to you, don’t you?” 

The jet’s optics shot open, burning a deep red that had Tailgate’s valve clenching. “You do!” He sounded so pleased, returning to rocking his fingers in and out of his valve. “I think we should do this more often. Maybe in a different position though. I bet you’d like laying on your stomach, wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t have to worry about your wings then,” The sound he got in response was somewhere between a whimper and an affirmative, and Tailgate drank it up. Swirling his fingers over a cluster of nodes got Cyclonus to buck his hips, legs starting to tremble as Tailgate rubbed his rim with a third finger. “I bet I could fit my whole hand in you, easy. They’re so small, I bet you’d have no trouble taking them at all.” Another whimper, this one decidedly more desperate. His hand had come up and draped over his face, the knuckles of the other still firmly lodged between sharp denta. When he slipped his third finger in, Cyclonus gasped, arching into his touch. “Your node’s burning hot by the way. Just thought I’d get that out there. If I had a tongue I could write little messages on it while I fingered you! Wouldn’t that be cute? Stuff like, ‘You look so good like this’ or ‘I love how you whimper’-” Another keen, and Tailgate took pity on the sensitive mech, rubbing his node with the thumb of his free hand. “So needy!” He teased, bending down to nuzzle his thigh. “You’re really sensitive, aren’t you? I bet you’re close to overload already, aren’t you? Your spike’s dripping transfluid  _ everywhere _ ! It’s pretty hot. I wish I had more hands, then I could touch that too-” He gasped, optics squeezing shut and peds digging into the berth. “Maybe I could make you ride my spike. That way I could see the pretty face you make when you overload. Or maybe I should have you on your side, cause then I can see your face and see your wings tremble. And then I could play with them!” The minibot grinned under his mask, spreading his fingers to stretch the neglected mesh. Cyclonus shivered, his hands still firmly pressed over his face, and Tailgate got a wicked idea. “Or,” He purred, letting his voice drop. This time, Cyclonus didn’t laugh, instead parting his fingers and cracking an optic open into a red slit to watch. “I could tie you up. Keep you from keeping any noise in, keep your hands away from your face so I can watch it contort. Then you couldn’t even hang onto anything! You’d just have to lay there and take whatever I had to give-” Cyclonus shouted, body curling in on itself as his spike shot transfluid across his stomach, lubricants gushing over Tailgate’s fingers and down onto the berth. 

Cyclonus whimpered and gasped through his overload, coming to still on his back and gasping for cool air. “You okay?” Tailgate asked, climbing up Cyclonus until they were optic level. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and reached for Tailgate, tucking him against his chest. Tailgate shuddered as a clawed servo traced down his back, finding his interface cover still shut. And coated in his own fluids. Cyclonus pulled his hand away, staring at the lubricants that coated his hand. It was Tailgate’s turn to be embarrassed. “Sorry…” He murmured, and Cyclonus shook his head. He was still venting too hard to try to speak, so he settled for rubbing the mini’s back, letting him relax and melt against his chassis. They laid together in relative silence, the only sound their cooling fans working overtime. “We should probably get cleaned up…” Tailgate finally muttered, staring down at himself. Cyclonus grimaced at the state of his own frame, but shook his head. 

“I cannot feel my legs to go get cleaned up,” He admitted, “I vote we lay here and deal with it tomorrow.” Tailgate was shocked by the out of character response, but found himself nodding along. He hadn’t overloaded in his panels in a long time, but instead of feeling embarrassed, he just felt tired. And judging by the fact Cyclonus’ optics just shut, he’d say the other mech felt much of the same. 


End file.
